That Obscure Object of Desire
by Delia Z. Cutleant
Summary: Yes, the title is from a movie. I liked the phrase and thought it fit. It's just a little curiosity that I decided to follow. I'm not planning on expanding on this much if at all. Well, here it is: the assistant that never was.


**_That Obscure Object of Desire – Cet Obscur Objet du Désire_**

_ She made him nervous, that much she could tell. And why wouldn't she? She was new and therefore untrustworthy. With his tendencies, it would be a lot to expect a warm _

_welcome. Her countenance wasn't at all threatening; she was exceedingly young and meek. Perhaps some of his fear came from the threat of inexperienced youth? That she _

_was, but she was also eager to help. Plus, she was excited. To imagine working with Adrian Monk, the renowned San Francisco detective, was an indulgent delusion of _

_grandeur. She was embarrassed for herself to have dreamt about it before this moment. It was quite an opportunity for a person of her age and background (to say the _

_least). But in her fractured mind, to have even been considered by him for the possibility of an interview was such a promising prospective. Now the very thought of it filled _

_her with the warmth of budding confidence. There would be a future for her after all. _

_ Mr. Monk's former nurse/assistant, Ms. Sharona Fleming had decided to return to New York City to attend their prestigious police academy. She wasn't quite sure why _

_Sharona had decided to leave Mr. Monk, but it appeared that the decision wasn't exactly amicable. During the interview, she couldn't help but stare at the top button of his _

_shirt. He wore the same type of shirt every day, but that was not what fascinated her. She wondered exactly why he buttoned it all the way to the top. Most men didn't. It _

_was obvious he wasn't like most men in many aspects, but was it really just a force of habit due to his obsessive-compulsive disorder? What a prudish, little thing. It made _

_her wonder, as she cocked her head to the side in an intensive listening manner…what...lied…beneath? _

**_La jeune fille_**

It had been a week since Sharona had arrived back in town and discovered that the medication in the guest bathroom had belonged to Cecile. Sharona had learned that Cecile used to

be registered at Stockton State Hospital for depression and attempted suicide (twice, once by pills and once by asphyxiation) at the tender age of 8. Apparently, she was the youngest

patient in the history of the ward. What could push a girl that far at such an age? Cecile's mother had died (another case of suicide perhaps, the details surrounding the death left much to

be desired) when she was only 5 and that her father had already left her life by the time she was 3. She had no other family, at least, no family who wanted to come forward and claim the

poor child. Cecile, therefore, became a ward of the state and Stockton became the only real home she had ever known. Later, it was revealed through popular categorical terms of

psycho-analysis that she had avoidant personality disorder with generalized anxiety. That was the official diagnosis. And now Cecile was living with and working for a man with the worst

obsessive-compulsive disorder Sharona had ever known. Cecile had probably seen and experienced much worse during her stay at Stockton, but Sharona liked to imagine that nobody

could be as bad as Monk. Sharona had also found out during her snooping that Cecile had seriously considered becoming a nun at one point. Amazing.

Sharona was thrown out of her reverie by the sound of Cecile frantically searching through a box of assorted eye shadows and crèmes in the other room. When Cecile finally found

what she was looking for, she could barely hold her hand steady enough to apply it to her eyelid. Sharona had been watching this scene with great intensity and concern.

"Shit." Cecil folded her head in her shaking hands. Sharona felt truly compelled to enter the room and sit next to her at the vanity. Cecile had bought a red empire dress several months

in advance for this one particular night and now it hung neatly from Trudy's antique armoire. "Why is it that no matter what I put on, it always looks like crap?" Sharona took a make-up

wipe from the counter, like the many times she had taken a wipe for Adrian, and replied calmly to Cecile,

"You know why Sweetie, it's because you're perfect just the way you are." Sharona held Cecile's face in her hand and wiped off the make-up. Sharona sympathized with her deeply.

She hadn't seen anyone stress out this badly since, well, Adrian! But this time she could relate to the terribly unavoidable fear that Cecile was going through. Only another woman could.

"Come on, we'll try again together," Sharona said. A moment of silence passed as Sharona skillfully and discreetly applied make-up on Cecile's fair skin. "You're going to look so

lovely, he'll forget all about Trudy.

"You know that's not true."

"Yeah, I know…but we can try."


End file.
